Picking Sides
by Archangel-dare
Summary: "If we become a threat, there has to be some way to neutralize us." "This isn't freedom, Natasha." His voice was sharp as steel but held a softness begging her to understand. She understood, but that wouldn't change her stance. The Superhuman Registration Act was tearing the Avengers apart; everyone knew it was only a matter of time. Prelude to Captain America: Civil War


The air was electrified between them. One breath, one spark and everything would go up in flames. Each set of eyes shifted to each other, waiting to see who would be the first one to light the powder keg. The Senate's proposed Superhuman Registration Act was tearing the Avengers apart, veterans and new members alike, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before someone threw the first punch.

The first punch came like a sucker blow to her gut. She knew it was coming. She _knew_ **he** would be the first one to object. But she hadn't expected him to be so calm as he stated his opposition and, without preamble or an opportunity for objection, walked to the tower's elevator and rode it down to the garage. She should have known it would hurt, but she had no way of knowing that it would steal her life and breath like a cannonball to her soul.

She walked on to the balcony of Stark Tower while the others stood still, shell-shocked. She watched the lights of his motorcycle disappear towards his Brooklyn apartment. Captain America, Steve Rogers, was leaving S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers, leaving _her_. He had watched her walk away once, when she had handed him the file that she knew could become his obsession and undoing. She couldn't stand here and watch him walk away. She couldn't let him go without saying a word.

* * *

On the way to his apartment, she struggled to find the correct words to say to him. A hundred different scenarios played out in her head, but each one ended the same: he would always oppose the Superhuman Registration Act. Every possible word she could say to him felt hollow and wrong. She unclenched her aching hands from the steering wheel and took a deep breath.

Natasha tried to focus more on what she would say to him than how Agent 13, Sharon Carter, had stepped closer to Steve as he had spoken up. Natasha had read her body language, the way Sharon's shoulders were turned towards him, giving him her full and undivided attention. It was nothing out of the ordinary; Steve always commanded everyone's attention and respect. So why then did it send flares of hot rage up and down Natasha's spine to see Sharon standing close to Steve and getting closer as if to say **she** stood with him as if no one else would?

Jealousy was an emotion Natasha was familiar with; she had inspired it in others and used it to carry out her mission. But she had never experienced it for herself.

Why would she be jealous of Sharon Carter being closer to Steve? She wanted him to have other friends and relationship possibilities, because she knew it was going to tear Steve apart when Peggy eventually died. She wanted him to find some reason to keep living, beyond S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers and anything even remotely related to Peggy's legacy. Hell, she had made him promise to call Agent 13 when she left to find her own reason to keep living after her horrendous past was leaked for the world to see; the worst part was, not even S.H.I.E.L.D had a complete record of all the crimes she had committed and all the red in her ledger. Natasha would never admit it, but she was glad that Steve was so incompetent with technology; she would never admit that she couldn't bear to see the judgement and rejection on his face if he knew everything she was capable of.

Her stomach tightened as her thoughts drew back to Steve and Agent 13. She knew they had gone on a few dates, but she had yet to ask if those dates had turned into something more. Every time he looked at her with those warm blue eyes, something stopped her from uttering that poisonous question. She remembered the small, irrational, ball of lead that had sunken in her stomach when Steve had told her that their kiss wasn't his first since 1945. Against her will, Natasha's mind had run rampant trying to figure out who his partner could have been. And now her mind was psychoanalyzing every slight twitch of Steve's and Agent 13's bodies, with the help of every red light in New York it seemed. She knew she couldn't give Steve the post-war dream he wanted that was so cruelly stolen from him. She wanted Steve to be happy; he of all people deserved that.

* * *

The sturdy knock he was expecting sounded against the hard wood door of his apartment. He knew who it was instantly; he had been expecting her. He knew she would be the one to come after him. _Everyone_ knew she would be the one to come after him. She was his Lieutenant, his second-in-command. Steve opened the door to let her in, and then turned and stepped towards his bookshelf. Her quiet steps sounded like gunshots in the silent apartment. She closed the door, never taking her eyes off of him. Steve pretended to fiddle with a record on his bookshelf, hoping that she would say her piece and go; they both knew that he didn't have the strength to face her. So he waited for her to speak. Minutes felt like hours.

' _Stubbornness is Natasha's best weapon.'_ He thought. "Say what you have to say Romanoff."

She popped her gum and threw it away in the trash; that irritating sound that was somehow so uniquely her had grown on him. He sighed and turned around, giving her exactly what she had wanted. Natasha felt her eyes widen as she looked at him. Suddenly, the beacon of hope and strength she was used to seeing Steve as looked so tired and worn down. He looked like a man whose ghosts had come back to haunt him. She realized that for him, his ghosts **had** come back to haunt him again.

"I can't support this Act." His eyes pleaded with her to understand, to drop the subject and let him leave S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers.

"I know."

"Then why are you here, Natasha?" Steve clenched his fists and unclenched them. Why _was_ she here? What could she possibly say to him that would convince him of the good of the Superhuman Registration Act more than his life had convinced him of the horrors of the SRA. He had seen some of the darkest moments of the Twentieth century: the carnage in the wake of Hitler's anti-Jewish Nazism, the damage of Roosevelt's Executive Order 9066 in response to the rising fear and distrust after Pearl Harbor. Steve had seen what the Superhuman Registration Act could become if led by the wrong people; Steve had **lived** what the Superhuman Registration Act would become if led by the wrong people.

"This isn't freedom, Natasha." His voice was sharp as steel, but held a softness almost begging her to understand. She did understand, but that wouldn't change her stance.

"We need this Act, Steve. After Tony and Ultron, we need some way to control ourselves, something to be held accountable to."

"So all pay for one man's mistake?" Steve's voice raised and he took a step forward. His beautiful blue eyes flashed with barely contained anger.

"No, but as Wanda said tonight, 'some men don't know the difference between saving the world and destroying it.' With our abilities and resources, who could stop us if we go rouge? Some of us are actual monsters, Steve. You have killed for the freedom of your country; I have killed for much less noble reasons."

His jaw tightened as he tried to figure out what to say to her. He knew Natasha had done some things she wasn't proud of; he didn't need to see her leaked file to figure that out, but he also knew that she was trying to make up for her time as a KGB and private assassin. Everything she did now was because she was trying to help. He had never seen her as a monster; when he came off the ice, she was just another unknown in a world of unknowns to him. But after what they had gone through together with the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D, she had become his partner and friend, someone he depended on and trusted with his life. A small piece of his heart had whispered the possibility that she could be more.

"We don't all have your morals, Steve." She whispered gently, reaching out to touch his arm. He allowed her delicate yet deadly hand to run up his forearm before he tenderly grabbed her wrist. He ran his thumb over it; sometimes it was so easy to forget that her soft hands could break a man's neck like a crayon. Shivers of pleasure ran down her spine and her body felt like she was burning from the inside out. This was a dance they were both very familiar with. They watched each other, keen eyes searching for some tell-tale sign of surrender that neither one of them knew how to vocalize. Steve sighed, some of the fight leaving his body. He was so tired of hearing this argument, and he didn't want to fight with her of all people.

"So we all walk around with targets on our backs, waiting for someone to pull the trigger?"

"If we become a threat, there has to be some way to neutralize us."

"Who decides who's a threat and who isn't?"

"The SRA committee does, and if they aren't good at it, then we bring them down. Ending regimes… we're good at that, you especially." She smiled saucily. He scoffed and looked out his living room window trying to hide that signature upward quirk of his lips. Natasha pursed her lips together trying not to laugh. He licked his lips and turned back to her, looking down at his hand, which had been absentmindedly stroking her wrist.

He looked back into her glistening eyes, trying to figure out what color they chose to be tonight. He had studied her eyes countless times when he thought she wouldn't know; she probably just didn't comment on it. He had sketched her eyes and pondered many times how much blue and green and slight flecks of gold to mix to get the color for them just right. His gaze dropped down to her lips, slightly chapped and parted gently.

"You should go." He whispered. She nodded, but neither of them moved. For one small moment, he wanted to be selfish. If they weren't going to agree, if this was going to tear them apart, then he would at least have this. His hand came up slowly to grasp the back of her head. Her arms wrapped around his neck. On instinct, they leaned towards each other but stopped before their lips could touch. His lips hovering above hers, Steve glanced into her eyes for permission. Her eyes adopted that wicked glint he had come to recognize as so characteristically her. He pressed his lips to hers, gently at first. Lips moving slightly to get a feel for her, then he pressed more firmly, pouring his soul into their first real kiss. He wanted her to take everything he had to give. Steve tasted cinnamon and wondered if that was from her gum, or if that was her natural flavor; cinnamon would fit her spitfire nature. His fingers entwined themselves in her silky hair, the glossy strands he had fantasized would spread over his pillows and bed sheets. His other hand went to the small of her back, pulling her so that their bodies melded together. He swiped his tongue at her bottom lip and swallowed the slight hitch of her breath when she opened her mouth to him. Their tongues slipped together, completing a sensual and playful dance they both instinctively knew. Her fingers played with the hairs on his neck, then pushed further into his signature 1940's military haircut. He almost moaned when her nails gently scratched at his scalp and pulled his hair. All too soon his body screamed for air and he had to pull away from her lips. Their chests heaved slightly as they tried to catch their breath. Neither said a word, but carefully watched the other. After a few minutes, she was the one to break the silence.

"Still want me to go?" Her teasing tone was absent. She had that same look on her face as when they cleaned up at Sam's after a day on the run, that shaken innocent widening of her eyes that made him want to protect her from the nightmares. He almost laughed; he wanted to protect her from the nightmares, but she was the figure of horror in many people's dreams. Steve let out another sigh. Want was not the best word for her to use. He _needed_ her to go, or else he would listen to the little voice in the depths of his cracked heart. If she stayed any longer, he would do as the voice said, pick her up and take her into his bedroom. He would lie her down on his bed, gently strip away each and every one of their barriers, and bury himself in her. He would make love to her until his name was all she would ever remember, until her name was all he would ever need, until they could never again tell where she ended and he began. He would cocoon them in his bed sheets and they would forget that the world outside of his apartment was falling apart.

She could see the internal struggle on his face. She would not make this easy for him. If he wanted her to leave, then he would have to say the words.

"Natasha," he whispered her name like a secret prayer. "I need you to go." She looked hurt, but he could tell that she understood the message beneath his words. She pulled him down for another kiss, and it took all of his strength not to follow through on his previous thoughts. He pulled her closer, then released her, but she grabbed his hand before he could fully let her go.

"I'm always with you, Steve." Her eyes hardened, and he instantly understood. She would be his double agent if he needed one. He nodded, thankful that this wouldn't tear them apart for good. She contemplated giving him one last sweet kiss goodbye, but knew if she did, it would break his resolve. Instead she leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek. She turned and walked away from him, their fingers remained entwined until the last possible moment when they had to pull away. She opened the door and glanced back at him. He nodded and so did she. She walked out; he had his mission, and she had hers.

The drive back to Stark Tower was much faster as if the universe knew all she wanted to do was to get back to her room and dream of what happened between them tonight and what could have happened. She parked her car in the garage and rode the elevator up to the common floor, wanting to stand on the balcony for a little longer. The crisp fall wind bit at her sweater and danced through her hair, but she stayed out there until she heard the footsteps.

"It's probably not smart to stand out here at," he glanced down at his watch, "1:30 in the morning."

She grunted and turned around. Tony Stark stood with two cups of hot chocolate. He handed her one and she gratefully accepted it. He stood next to her, watching the city that never slept below them.

"He wouldn't change his mind." Tony spoke after a little while. It wasn't a question; they both knew Steve Rogers would always fight on the side of freedom no matter who stood on the other side. "Barton left after you did." Natasha wasn't surprised. She knew he would object to the SRA as vehemently as Steve did; Clint had a family to protect, and there would be no way to keep that secret with a government division that Nick Fury had limited control over.

"Everyone will pick a side. They can't afford not to." She took a sip of the delicious hot chocolate.

"And if this ends the Avengers?" Tony looked over at her. She wasn't herself; he was guessing that something more happened tonight between her and Rogers than just talking about his resignation.

"Then the SRA committee will have one less problem to worry about." She backed up from the railing, nodded 'Good night', and walked towards the elevators. Tony looked down at the city that had come to have a special place in his heart, took a sip of his hot chocolate, and walked back to the elevator bay.


End file.
